(A/N:  Yes, I know, my beloved and very patient readers ... FINALLY!  I promise, I'll explain to ANYONE who's wondering why a once-reliable writer has been reduced to posting every couple of months.  I'm appalled it's taking me two years to post a story.  All I can do is apologize ... and offer you this chapter, with the request that you lavish praise and kudos upon my beta's head.  T hank you, Nieriel Raina ... You're awesome.    --- Le Rouret)

Chapter 33. Milkthistle and Feverfew

Legolas awoke after the sun had risen; he blinked and rubbed his eyes, which felt sandy.  He sat up cautiously, squinting in the bright yellow light that flickered and filtered through the canvas of his Lord Father’s tent.  After a precursory assessment he determined the amount of wine he had drunk the previous evening had affected no deleterious debilitation, and after patting his hair to make sure most of the strands upon his head were pointing downward, he yawned, stretched, and shook the bedclothes from him, brushing some of the larger wrinkles from his tunic and exiting the tent, looking round for Gimli.

 He had achieved twelve steps forward ere he was arrested by his esquire, who upon trotting round the corner of a supply tent fixed his lord with an appalled eye, and setting his jaw took the Green Knight protesting weakly back to the tent, where a hurried ablution was performed with ice-cold water, sticky lye soap, and a comb that, Legolas decided, had been especially designed to find and pull every snarl in his hair.  Ignoring his lord’s assertions that certainly no one was going to give a brass piece for his appearance, Tamin stripped and redressed his lord, speaking no disapprobation but with an eloquent disapproval upon his little fair face.  At last Tamin declared himself marginally satisfied and allowed Legolas to leave the tent once more; though Legolas heard him mutter as he quit it:  “And us without his circlet!  What were we thinking when we packed for him?”  

Bemused, and not quite feeling himself, Legolas emerged once more into the sunlight, and found to his surprise that he actually did feel a little better after having washed and brushed; he determined however to keep that maternal tidbit to himself, lest he supply his esquire with more reason to scold him.  He ran his long fingers through his hair, wincing a little and wondering if it were the detritus of drink, or of his esquire’s overenthusiastic combing, that made his head ache; then he heard his name called and he turned in relief.

“Gimli!” he said, and rushed over to where the Dwarf stood, arms akimbo.  “I should have been out sooner, but Tamin got to me.”

“I hardly think Tamin took two hours to get you to this state,” said Gimli dryly.  He looked clean and alert and sober, his beard neatly braided and his blue tunic smooth; he gave his friend a critical look.   “And to think I feared you would never sleep again!  Do you know what time it is?  You have missed breakfast.”

“I am, I confess, not terribly hungered,” said Legolas with a sheepish smile.   “Thirsty, perhaps.”

“Hot mead, then,” said Gimli, his mouth twitching over an answering smile.  “I have been told it might relieve those symptoms of the aftermath of an evening of overindulgence … not that I have experienced this personally, of course.”

“Of course!” laughed Legolas.  “You certainly did not overindulge at Mardil’s wedding, now, did you, my friend?”

“Certainly not,” said Gimli with a sniff.  “I do not remember doing any such thing.”

“I believe you,” said Legolas.  “I thought I would never get you back to your chambers!  In the end, Aragorn and I had to roll you there.”

“Indeed?” said Gimli.  “That explains those strange bruises I sustained.”

They found the buttery tent, and to Legolas’ relief it was manned by Nír himself, who gave the prince a knowing grin along with a steaming mug of strong mead.  Legolas sipped it while he and Gimli walked the camp, watching the interactions betwixt Elf and Dwarf, and seeing the Men corralled and settled.  They went to the eastern corner, where the women and children fleeing the fire in Esgaroth had been housed; they were heavily guarded by a regiment of stout warriors, Elves and Dwarves alike; the regiment informed Legolas and Gimli that though some women had been entreating for their husbands, the preponderance seemed more than rather pleased with their current position, admitting they felt safer under the care of those who were not Men at all.  They were, Legolas thought privately, a rather pathetic grouping; the children were half-starved and lethargic, and the hollow-eyed women grimly satisfied.  When he and Gimli quit their company Legolas shook his head.

“Malbeach, though dead, has much to yet answer for,” he said; “Renna too, for allowing things to get to this state.  And now Esgaroth is destroyed, and these poor folk without homes at the tag-end of summer!  What shall they do when fall arrives?  Surely they cannot build their own houses, and I am reluctant to release them to their husbands, not knowing the scale of each man’s malfeasance.”

“It is a pretty question,” agreed Gimli, walking along beside Legolas, his thumbs in his belt.  “For myself, I think we should send them to Bard, and let Men deal with Men.”  He looked up at Legolas, and descried the discontented scowl; he added:  “I know that with you, to think a munificence is to immediately grant it; but Legolas, we are many hundreds of leagues from Dol Galenehtar, and it is rising autumn.  Surely you do not expect your Lord Father to succor them.”

“Well,” said Legolas a little sheepishly, “I had thought rather of asking my Lady Mother.”

“I would not,” said Gimli firmly.  “I think your mother, as your father, has had a skinfull of Men already.”  Legolas sighed in agreement, and Gimli added, “And speaking of skinfulls, what on earth did you tell your father last night, Legolas?  He begged me this morn to keep you away from the docks in Minas Tirith at any cost!  You are not thinking of sailing already, are you, my friend?  Because I will tell you right here and right now - ” the Dwarf poked Legolas aggressively in the chest “ – I will have none of it!  You are not allowed to quit this world as long as I breathe; is that clear, Legolas?  I forbad you to die when we fought Muhk, and I forbid you to do anything rash, while we are still stumbling round in grief and confusion.  You either sail when I am cold beneath the stone, or when I give you permission.  Do you understand?”  And he glared up at his friend, his eyes flashing; Legolas sighed and looked away.

“If I think of seeking the healing shores of Valinor, can you blame me, O Gimli?” he said with a frown.  “What a terrible summer it has been!  And these Men, Gimli – O these Men! – they repulse me!  I want nothing more to do with them – nothing at all.  I am tired of dealing with them!”

“Tell Aragorn that, then!” said Gimli angrily.  “Or Faramir, or Éomer!  Listen, Legolas – “ Gimli took Legolas’ elbow and lowered his voice.  “This has been a terrible summer, to be sure.  And we have seen terrible things wrought by the sons of Men.  But do you not throw out the baby with the bath water, my friend.  Valinor is not the answer, not yet.”  He let Legolas go, who did not reply, but only looked a little shame faced; then he added:  “And in all likelihood you will be terribly bored there.”

Despite himself Legolas laughed.  “I cannot imagine that I would be, though I confess its dearth of Dwarves is a concern,” he admitted, looking round the camp; Dori and Dwalin were bustling by, arguing about sides of beef, and there was a little clutch of Dwarves and Elves mingled playing at dice in front of the paddock; Methlon was among them, his bright face and hair a sharp contrast to his dark tunic; he rolled his dice and laughed merrily while his companions expostulated.  “You are right, of course,” Legolas sighed; “you are near always right, O Gimli my friend; I was precipitate, and in my sorrow and anger sought the swift solution.”  He fell silent, thinking of Radagast drawing him back to the earth, and pondered what would have been his fate had the wizard lingered an hour more.  “I should not think to deprive my friends of my most noxious and aggravating presence too soon.  But it is tempting, Gimli.”

“Well, think a little first, will you?” grumbled Gimli.  “I have lost enough friends already.  I do not wish to lose any more.”

“We have both lost some of our closest friends, O Gimli,” said Legolas sadly.  “Bandobras and Belegtilion, and poor Melima and Belias.  And Kaimelas was near killed, and Seimiel, though she has not yet said, is I am certain plotting dire revenge upon me for bringing her husband up here in the first place.  Meivel will put me under house arrest the moment we cross back into the borders of my demesne and make sure I never leave his sight again, and Dúrfinwen – “  He broke off and made a frustrated noise, halted, and drained his mead, looking around with lowered brow; when he determined there was no one about he said in a low voice:  “And Dúrfinwen!  What do I do with Dúrfinwen, Gimli?  How can I reinstate her as a maid of my household when a maid she surely can never be?  I know that she has declared she has no notion of ruling Dale; but it is early days yet, and I have no way of knowing whether she shall return to be my mercer – though why she should agree to be a mere mercer when she is of royal blood – and with her maidenhood stripped of her, though I shall maintain her sad secret with all my being, it shall denigrate her status; you know what think the Men of Gondor, and what is the opinion of the ladies of the royal courts thereabouts!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Gimli, looking in amazement at his friend.  “Perhaps you should sail for Valinor, Legolas; I never thought I should live to see the day you actually thought like a Man!  Do you not think what the Lord of Such-and-such should say, or what the Lady of So-and-so thinks.  Dúrfinwen’s purity is gone from her.  What do you think?  You are her lord and protector, after all.   What is her status in your eyes? Is she lessened or made greater to you?”

“Through no fault of her own, and in circumstances beyond all reason and control, did violent men seek to take from her that which for centuries she had guarded,” said Legolas a little hotly.  “To me that only makes her the purer, for she was robbed but held herself firm; and that so increases her value to me that she as a lady of Dol Galenehtar multiplies the worth of my court.  My poor, brave, beautiful mercer!  Had I no other consideration but mine own, would I bring her to Dol Galenehtar in honor and reverence, instating her as a lady without peer in my court, and bestowing upon her the privilege and authority due her.”  Legolas paused and considered his own words; then he gave a shamefaced grin.  “You are right again, Gimli,” he admitted.  “I am thinking too much of what Men will think.  What care I?  Dúrfinwen will do as Dúrfinwen will do, and all I can do is to be her lord, and make sure she does nothing precipitate.”

“That will be a good trick,” grunted Gimli.  “You, telling someone to not be precipitate?  So the moon scolds the stars for circling the earth!  Come,” he said, taking Legolas by the elbow and leading him away.  “Let us to the healer’s tents.  She is there, aiding Liquíseleé and Seimiel; take her aside and speak to her, so that you may determine how best to succor her.  Let the daughters of Men be cared for by the daughters of men.  Dúrfinwen is your concern, now.  And Liquíseleé and Seimiel, too,” he added with a smile.  “What wrath drove them to pursue Meivel to the north!  You will have to watch yourself around those two.”

Legolas allowed himself to be propelled along, but he looked unhappy.  “Speak to her!” he repeated.  “What will I say?”

“Tell her what you told me, of course, you ninny!” growled Gimli.  “You cannot dance around her denigration forever, and the longer you avoid speaking of it, the thicker will be the palisade between you two.  Take her aside, and in private assure her of your support.  What are you afraid of?”

“With Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas, smiling.  “That she will throw something at me.”

“So duck,” shrugged Gimli, and together they approached Liquíseleé’s domain.

On their way they found Meivel, walking along with an expression upon his face that looked two steps removed from a smile; for that dour fellow it was a surprising expression indeed, and when he paused to bow to his lord, Legolas exclaimed:  “Why, Meivel!  You look quite pleased; whatever has occurred to lift your countenance so?  Did someone slit Bard’s throat?”

“Better, my lord,” said Meivel; his dark eyes sparkled.  “You have made a good choice in esquires, my lord.  I highly approve.”

“Do you!” said Legolas in surprise; Tamin’s exuberance and perpetual good cheer had always irritated Meivel in the past.  “To what does he owe your approbation?”

“Ask Baranil,” said Meivel, with what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle; with a final bow Meivel headed off, humming a little under his breath.

“Interesting!” said Gimli thoughtfully, watching the captain’s retreating back.  “I wonder what that scamp has been up to now?”

“Knowing Meivel and Baranil, I will wager he has managed to ruffle the unrufflable,” grinned Legolas.   “Come!  Let us see if the ladies know.”  And he drew aside the tent flap and gestured Gimli within.

The tent was spacious and airy, and filled with the pungent and cloying scents of herbs and unguents and hot water.  Row upon row of pallets were laid down, with Elves and Dwarves thereupon, and moving amongst the aisles in plain brown and grey were three of the ladies of Dol Galenehtar.  Liquíseleé and Seimiel had, Legolas noted with satisfaction, covered their hair with scarves, replicating Dúrfinwen’s design of headdress; he thought to himself that he had surrounded himself with the kindest and most solicitous Elves in Arda.  But then Liquíseleé espied him, and frowned; she turned with her hands on her hips and her chin lifted, and said:

“Well!  And what do you want?  A cure for a hobnailed head?  Galion told me someone had pilfered his supplies last night, and your Lord Father is going round looking like he has a parboiled liver.”

Legolas recognized his leech was in a foul mood, and in no state for banter; to assure her goodwill he bowed his head and said:  “I fully accept the repercussions of mine actions, and proclaim that I warrant whatever ramifications I deserve.”

“Good; we are out of feverfew and milkthistle, and have no unguent to give you,” said Seimiel, busily rewrapping an appreciative Dwarf’s head.  “I have just given the last of it to Rán here.”

“Superior to the physic is the hand that imparts it,” said Rán, smiling up at her appreciatively; he had the look of one who admires hair the color of honey, and eyes grey as glass; her beardlessness did not seem to be an impediment.  “Will you not sit a while and speak to me, O leech?  Your voice is more soothing than the strongest remedy!”

“Have a care there, Rán; she is wed,” warned Gimli, though his brown eyes twinkled.  “Did not your mother warn you of the dangers of flirting with married ladies?”

“Well, I cannot flirt with Dúrfinwen; Dori has told me it is strictly forbidden!” said Rán discontentedly, gesturing down the aisle to the grey-clad woman at work.  “He is only green, I think; he wants her dimples for himself.”

“Liquíseleé is unwed,” said Legolas, smiling at his leech, who gave him a sour look.  “And can you disparage that surpassing fair face, and hair of fulgent sunshine?”

“Never flirt with the one that is in charge,” said Rán firmly as Liquíseleé sniffed in disdain.  “That is what my father told me.  And he should know,” he added owlishly; “considering my mother’s position.”

“True enough,” admitted Gimli, stumping over to him and squatting down beside him.  He studied the skillfully wrapped bandage, still with its stain of blood, and gauged it against Rán’s rosy cheeks and bright eyes.  “How is it?”

“It is healing,” said Seimiel, tying off the strappings.  “There is no infection, and the edges, though jagged, are coming together.  But he shall have a scar, I fear.”

“It will but serve to dramatically illustrate my strength and courage in battle,” said Rán, looking up at her admiring.  “The ladies love that sort of thing, you know.”

“Do they?” smiled Seimiel.  “I cannot say I see the allure myself.”

“Well, no,” said Rán, glancing over into the corner, his smile fading.  “I suppose you wouldn’t, all things considered.”

Legolas turned his gaze to where Kaimelas slumbered, a little apart from the rest of the wounded; his valet looked terribly white and limp.  Seimiel too looked over at her husband; in her dark grey eyes was a suddenly tender and worried gaze, as though her conversation had been going along quite smoothly, but then the carriage had hit a deep and hidden ditch.  Legolas’ heart sank, and he yet felt the weight of his culpability, and the fears for his friend’s health.  “How is he?” he asked Seimiel under his breath.

“Better,” said Seimiel, her voice surprisingly level, though her long red mouth curved downward.  “He awoke and took some broth and water.  He still does not know where he is, or what is the day; but he knows the folk around him, and is comfortable.”

“Good,” said Legolas, and glanced down at her diffidently.  “Seimiel, I know that you wished to keep him out of danger – “

“Spare me your self-recriminations; I have scolded Baranil already,” said Seimiel with a sudden sunny smile.  “I know you would have kept him in Dol Galenehtar if you could – and equally that he should have followed you into danger, my and your arguments alike falling upon deaf and stubborn ears.  My Kaimelas has not the soul of a valet.  We have always known this.  He is a scout and a warrior and better bred for death than dressing, for passion than protocol, for escutcheons than epaulettes.  Though I admit, my lord,” she added frankly, “so great was my wrath when I first saw him wounded I should have torn out your heart; but Glóin informed me you sent him to Thorin to protect him, not thinking he would go into battle.  Be at peace, my lord; I am wroth with you no longer.”

“Excellent!” laughed Legolas.  “My life runs the smoother when my vassals are content.”  He let his gaze travel round the tent then, until it rested upon Dúrfinwen in the back corner; she was aiding an Elf to drink a potion, her head wrapped in a gaily patterned scarf of green and yellow; her arm was round the Elf’s shoulders, and she held the cup to his mouth and spoke to him quietly.  Legolas watched as she put the emptied cup down, and wiped the Elf’s mouth with the corner of her apron; she carefully lowered him back to his pallet, and covered him with a blanket.  Despite the scarf and the clean dress and apron, there was a marked difference between Dúrfinwen and her two companions; her face was pale and gaunt, her eyes like black blots on a white parchment; and beneath the voluminous vestments she looked starved and thin.  Then Seimiel put a hand on his arm, and he started, and looked down at her; he had forgotten she was there.

“Please speak to her, my lord,” whispered Seimiel; her grey eyes were distressed.  “With her purity she has lost her place.  I know not your plans for her instatement, my lord, but reassure her that her home is with us!”

“I like how well you know me,” said Legolas with a wistful smile.  “’Twas for that very purpose I have come.  And thank you, Seimiel, for covering your head – you and Liquíseleé both.”

“I would do anything for Dúrfinwen,” said Seimiel firmly, her eyes flashing.  “I cannot remember a day when she and I did not love one another, from when we toddled together in the nursery to when we first put our hair up, and let our skirts down.  But when I was wed to Kaimelas did a wedge drive itself in between us, for I was a married woman, and she a maid; my very homely duties did confer upon her the difference in our positions, and mine affections and their fulfillment did further our disparity.  Now these appalling actions visited upon her have widened the gap, and I feel the distance most keenly.  She will not speak to Liquíseleé or even to me, my lord, concerning this; Liquíseleé says it is because she feels her pain and trouble set her too far apart from us, for Liquíseleé is yet unsullied, and I though breached have unbreached myself likewise in honor.  But you are a man, and she has always been so ruthlessly pragmatic; she may yet listen to you, my lord.”

“Think you so?” asked Legolas soberly.  “She suffered far more than did I, who am yet maintained in purity.”

“But you suffered, and we did not,” insisted Seimiel stubbornly.  “You were there for her at the end of it.  Be there again, my lord.” 

“Do all my vassals order me about?” asked Legolas with a small smile.

“Yes,” said Seimiel promptly.  “Where do you think Tamin learns it?”

“Why; what has he done now?” asked Legolas curiously, remembering Meivel’s satisfied mood.

Seimiel’s eyes twinkled, and she bit her lip.  “I will not do the tale justice,” she said, her voice warm with humor.  “Baranil possesses sufficient perspective; ask him.”

“I shall,” said Legolas; “I could use the levity.  For now, however, I will take your helpmeet of you.  She looks tired.  Does she not look tired?  Do you not think she needs to rest for a moment to regain her strength?”

“She does,” smiled Seimiel.  “Also does she need to fetch additional feverfew and milkthistle.  There is no more in the supplies; but if anyone can find it in the surrounding areas it is she.”

“Then I have ample reason to abduct her.  Thank you, Seimiel.”

She gave to him a courtesy, which he disdained, and kissed her upon the cheek instead; she went back to her rounds giving to him an encouraging look; and Legolas with a sigh went down the aisle of pallets to where his mercer stood with a skin and cheesecloth, preparing an unguent.   She glanced at him, her eyes dark and hooded, and when he smiled she only looked down at the poultice, massaging it with her thin fingers until the oils had permeated it; then she knelt, and applied it to her sleeping patient’s burn.  Legolas knelt too, perceiving she would need an extra pair of hands to finish the dressing; she made no indication she either approved or disapproved of his involvement, but tied it off in silence, her eyes downcast.  Legolas collected her things, and rose; he held one hand out to her to help her up, and she hesitated; she shifted a little on her knees, as though gauging her strength against her pride; at last her pride lost, and putting her hand in her lord’s she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“I have been informed that the healer’s tent is suffering a paucity of feverfew and milkthistle,” he said to her.  “Furthermore, as you are the only Laiquenda in the immediate vicinity, that it shall be your charge to locate and collect more.”

“Indeed, my lord?” she said, unsmiling.  “Then I shall take me to the woods.”

“And I shall accompany you,” said Legolas.

She raised one eyebrow.  “Think you I require a bodyguard even now, my lord?”

“Yes, O Princess,” said Legolas with a little bow.  “’Twould be highly improper for a lady of your standing to proceed without proper escort.”

She gave him a strange look, but did not comment further; she returned her supplies to Liquíseleé, who fixed Legolas with a basilisk glare and informed her that Dúrfinwen would be returned at a reasonable time with all herbs accounted for, and there was to be no dilly-dallying.  Legolas meekly complied, and helped Dúrfinwen into a soft red cloak when Liquíseleé grimly pronounced the morning “too cold” for the mercer’s compromised constitution, despite Dúrfinwen’s weak assertions that the day was sufficiently fine to dispense with such extra burdens; they passed Gimli as they went out, who gave to them both a sympathetic grin and a wave; and in silence the two let the tent flap fall behind them.

They were constrained to cross the length of the camp to reach the forest.  All round them bustled Elves and Dwarves, laughing and talking together; the Elves bowed as they went, and spoke kindly to Dúrfinwen, and the Dwarves saluted them both with genial greetings.  Legolas felt her stiffen each time they were approached, and flinch when spoken to; her face was shuttered and tense, and her eyes frightened and unsure.  But she held herself erect, and spoke politely, inclining her head to her fellow Elves, and smiling at the Dwarves.  When they quit the camp and headed deep into a grassy meadow, and the voices and dust faded behind them, Legolas heard her sigh, and saw her shoulders slump; the stiff tightness in her face softened, and her steps slowed.  The thick tall grass rustled dryly round them, and as they moved through it, its sweet late summer scent surrounded them.  There were round the edges of the clearing some low shrubs of wild rose, already in their hips, though there were yet some dark pink blossoms quivering bravely in the sunlight.  Several tall stalks of coppertip waved amongst the browning grasses, and Legolas absently plucked one as they passed it; its sprays of red trumpets danced in his hands.  Dúrfinwen paused at one of the rose bushes, and fingered the hips thoughtfully.

“What is it that Liquíseleé uses the hips for?” she asked.  It was the first time she had spoken since they quit the tent; her voice was subdued.

“She gives it to patients with the ague,” said Legolas.  “And methinks when the inhospitable winter arrives, the folk hereabouts will suffer greatly from it.”

“Hm,” said Dúrfinwen, drawing her hand away from the hips; she hesitated, then opened the satchel hanging from Legolas’ elbow, and began harvesting.  Legolas did not comment, but let her go on for a few moments; at last she slowed and stopped.

“That was kind of you,” said Legolas.  Dúrfinwen gave him a hollow look, and with neither reply nor warning plunged recklessly into the thicket.

Her skirts snagged on the rose bushes, and upon some low hollies; she tore it away impatiently and pressed inward.  Legolas followed, watching her; her steps quickened again, as though she sought to put as much distance between herself and the camp as possible; but when she came upon a little rocky place she allowed him to take her hand and guide her safely over.  At last they came to a clearing, sun-speckled and dancing with butterflies, which hovered over late-blooming hydrangeas, white and pink and blue.  The grass was interspersed with thick moss and phlox, and there was the comfortable hum of honey bees; a wren fussed and clattered nearby.  She stopped as though jerked back, and stood, stiff, trembling, the sunlight athwart her swathed head, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“What is it, Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas after a moment.  “There is nothing here to harm you.  Not Elf nor Dwarf nor Man has passed this point in weeks.  It is quiet and warm and quite innocuous.  What is wrong?”

She turned to him then, her eyes angry.  “What is wrong?” she repeated, her voice trembling.  Shakily she unwound her scarf, revealing her torn and healing ears, and the russet curls glowing in the sunshine.  “What is wrong?  How can you ask that, my lord, when you know – “  She cut herself off and turned away, blinking hard.  “I, I do not want to be here.  And I do not know how to – how to go elsewhere – where people will not know – what I am – “  Her voice snagged on a sob, and she wiped impatiently at her eyes which had filled with tears.  “I have nowhere to go,” she said roughly.  “I cannot stay – I cannot go – I can go nowhere – “

“I do not recall giving you the option,” said Legolas firmly.  She turned to him, her brown eyes wide; Legolas could see the thoughts chasing themselves round behind them, like the restless circling of minnows in a sunny pool.  Then her eyebrows lowered and her lips settled into a thin hard line; it was strangely innocuous coupled with those dimpled cheeks.

“You said you would give me extra chambers and looms,” she said, as though it were an accusation.

“I did,” said Legolas easily.  “And spindles and laborers and silk and wool.”

She stared hard at him.  “Why?” she demanded.

“As recompense for your bravery and steadfastness,” said Legolas.

“You cannot repurchase my status,” she said angrily.  “You do know that, do you not, O Green Knight?  Not all the gold in Dol Galenehtar and Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor combined can repurchase it for me!”

“I need not purchase it; ‘tis not mine anyway,” shrugged Legolas.  “That your status has changed, that is immutable; you ought rather to be pleased than dismayed.”

She stared at him in amazement, and her eyes filled again with tears.  “How can you say that!” she cried, her hands in fists; Legolas braced himself for her blows, grateful she was wearing laced shoes.  “Pleased!  How can I be pleased when I am brought so low?”

“You are not brought low,” said Legolas resolutely, risking her fists and taking her by her shoulders; she trembled beneath his touch but did not pull away.  “Your purity was taken of you against your will; and so your status does not decrease but increase; the crown of your purity is redoubled, and you are brought to a far higher estate than you were before.  Therefore I say to you, that you are not without recourse, nor without a home.  Come back to Dol Galenehtar with me, O my mercer!  Terrors and horrors and acts unspeakable were brought upon you, but could not destroy you, for you are formed of a better and tougher mettle than any of your attackers could have dreamed.  Your dross is burnt away, and you stand before me not a ruined maid, but an illustrious princess; and it is my bounden duty as your lord to declare you my equal, and thus bestow upon you the riches and wealth according to your new rank.”

She stared at him dumbfounded, then gave a disbelieving laugh.  “You are too stupid!” she said scornfully, pulling away from him.  “Me, go back to Gondor!  And you would present me to the court as a half-breed princess?  Garland me with all the ignominy of my shame?  Expose me to the scorn and ridicule of those waspish gossips?  You may dress me in the finest silks and brocades you like, and crown me with mithril; but I am still – “

“A princess,” said Legolas, taking her by the hand.  “They cannot strip your blood of you.  And they are but mortals, Anóriel daughter of Fércast; in a hundred years’ time they will all be dead anyway, and you will still be a princess.”

She turned from him, but did not pull her hand from his grasp.  “You cannot be sure of that,” she said in a low voice.

“Well, some of the sons of Men are rather long-lived,” Legolas admitted judiciously.  “But Men’s memories are notoriously short, especially when confronted with the double letters patents you possess.”

“I did not mean the Men,” said Dúrfinwen. 

Legolas puzzled over this for a moment; then in comprehension his face fell and he said, “Oh!”  They were both silent; she was turned away from him, but he still grasped her hand; the honeybees and the butterflies hovered round them, and one brave and thoughtless bee began to crawl and hum round Legolas’ coppertip.  A hawfinch squawked in a nearby shrub, and high above them a blackbird warbled and peeped.  The breeze sighed and soughed around them, stirring Dúrfinwen’s plain gray skirt, and Legolas’ brilliant golden hair; it pressed their clothes against them, exposing the skin and bones they had become.  But Dúrfinwen’s hand was yet warm in his, and Legolas at last said:

“Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen.”

“Your Lord Father did name you Anóriel.”

“And your Lady Mother did name me Dúrfinwen.”

“Your Lord Father was first.”

She gave a huff of irritation, and turned back to him; her eyes flashed, but she was smiling.  “You are so aggravating, my lord.”

“I am pleased to hear you say so,” he said politely.

“You are pleased to hear I find you aggravating?”

“I am pleased to hear you call me your lord.  You swore oaths to me, and I shall impose my will upon you.”

“Shall you, now!” she said archly.  “Well, I know that when Legolas Thranduilion puts his foot down, something gets squashed.  What are you squashing now, my lord?”

“I am ordering you back to Dol Galenehtar, O my mercer,” said Legolas seriously.  “Convalesce here if you like; but I require you in Ithilien.  I refuse to share you with my Lady Mother any longer.”

“Very well,” said Dúrfinwen; she sounded tired, and looked up at the blackbird in resignation.  “Are there any other aspects of mine existence you wish to order?”

Legolas took her other hand in his, and captured her bright eyes with his own .  “Anóriel,” he said.  “I cannot command you to fade not, nor to deny your Edain heritage.  That authority is not mine over you.  I cannot order the will of your soul, nor demand you accept a fate you do not want.  But I can beg you to heed the call of the Eldar, and forswear both despair and mortality.  I do not want you to fade, O Anóriel; you are too dear to me for that; and for that reason I surely do not want you to die.  I spent too much time, shed too much blood, and suffered too many wounds to accept your death so complacently.”  He looked down at their hands intertwined, and pressed them together.  “My dreams sent me not to the east to find Muhk, Anóriel,” he said slowly.  “They sent me to find you, and I will be damned if I let you slip away, now that you are safely to shore.” 

Dúrfinwen did not reply, but Legolas saw the reluctant comprehension in her brown eyes; he grasped her hands the tighter and said earnestly:  “Think, Anóriel!  Autumn is on our heels.  The harvest is nigh upon us.  Tuilíndo will be packaging the dried herbs to ship to Langstrand, and the docks will be full of wine-barrels.  Andunië is likely conferring with King Éomer’s hunstmen concerning the wild boar, and Galás I am sure is near tearing out his hair over the paperwork Hirilcúllas has foisted upon him in mine absence.   There are three women requiring my presence in their time of need, and the attendant hoods, boots, and gowns for their tiny offspring have yet to be made!  And Seimiel is in need of a wardrobe befitting her new status as an ambassador’s lady; who shall fit her red ball gown?”

Dúrfinwen did not reply, but the corner of her sweet pink mouth turned upward; encouraged Legolas continued:  “In six weeks’ time, Anóriel,  will the slopes of the Ephel Dúath blush golden and crimson, and the tailrace will roar and boom and turn the wheels that press our oil.  Queen Undómiel’s Winter Ball is right around the corner, and I am foreseeing you in a gown of cloth of gold, with red satin roses at your waist, driving all the courtiers to distraction, and making jealous in your mimicry the lindens and oaks and maples in your splendor!.   Anóriel.”  He shook her gently, and smiled down into her unsure face.  “Last night, I told my father I was ready to sail.  I was wrong, Anóriel.  I am too busy.  And so are you.”

Dúrfinwen gazed up at him in amazement, too stunned to speak; the hawfinch however felt no such awkwardness, and clattered and trilled beside them.  Legolas held her gaze, unwilling to let her falter; his adamance quivered in the air between them.  At last Dúrfinwen closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, and let it out; she opened her eyes, and smiled.

Legolas’ heart swelled; her brown eyes were warm and acquiescent, and though her cheeks were yet thin and sunken, her dimple bravely reappeared.  “Cloth of gold?” she said.  “You must not be minding mine accounts, my lord; have you any notion the cost of it per yard?”

“What matters that, if it makes a pretty dress?” asked Legolas, smiling in his relief.

She tipped her head to the side, considering it; her lips pursed charmingly.  “For cloth of gold I shall strongly consider your request,” she said, tossing her close-cropped head.  “Though it is the world’s most unforgiving fabric with which to work.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to concoct a gown of such surpassing magnificence you bring the flush of envy to even Undómiel's cheeks.”

“You do not ask much, do you, my lord?” asked Dúrfinwen wryly.  “You tear me from my lady, and insist I return south with you to labor again in the tucking-mill; and you seek to dissuade me from acceding my royal heritage in Dale.”

“Wish you to rule in Dale?” asked Legolas with a laugh.  “By all means; I am certain Bard would happily concede, though he might ask certain sanctions of you.”

She made a face.  “Ugh!  I had forgotten; he promised to press his suit.  Well, perhaps I will be fortunate, and he be repelled by my pate.”

“Why should he be?” asked Legolas, lightly touching the dark red curls.  “Tamin is right; they are quite pretty.  I cannot wait to see them in another year’s time, tumbling and roiling down your back like fiddleheads in the autumn.” 

“Fiddleheads!” exclaimed Dúrfinwen.  “Now you are making me hungry.”

“O but there is a feast prepared for us, Anóriel,” said Legolas, winding one of the little curls round his finger and letting it spring back to her head.  “Can you not imagine what my Lady Mother and our Dwarvish ladies have concocted?  Think you upon the roasts and cheeses and subtleties and stews and breads and sweets and fruit and nuts – “

“For now, I would eat fried fiddleheads,” said Dúrfinwen with a laugh; her voice was clear and her face possessed of wellbeing.  “Fried in butter with peppercorns.”

“If I am to fry you fiddleheads in butter, I insist upon adding a school of good trout,” said Legolas, his pale eyes twinkling.

“If you are going to fry me trout, then you must also fry me potatoes.”

“And if I fry you potatoes, then onions … “

“And if onions, then bacon … “

They both laughed then, and Dúrfinwen in her respite threw her arms round her lord’s neck to embrace him; Legolas embraced her in turn, and kissed the crown of her head, relieved he had returned to her the substance of her repute.  “Now we are both hungry!” he said, releasing her; he was immeasurably pleased to note she had lifted her chin, and her brown eyes were sparkling with mirth.  “Now, Little One, let us find those herbs Liquíseleé did send us out to gather; for she did say to me no dilly-dallying and I fear we have dilly-dallied enough to raise her ire.”

“It will not be difficult,” smiled Dúrfinwen.  “We are standing in them.”

“Oh!”  Legolas looked down; sure enough there were feverfew and milkthistle blooming all round their feet, little white and yellow faces smiling up at them, and deceptively soft-looking purple puffs.   He laughed and said, “Well we had best begin harvesting them then, ere Liquíseleé sends someone out to find us.”  They both knelt in the fragrant blooms and gathered them up, placing them with care upon the rose hips in the satchel; after a moment of companionable silence Legolas said:  “So what was it Tamin did that amused Meivel so?”

Dúrfinwen laughed and sat back upon the grass.  “Ah!” she said smiling; “I am sorry you did not see it; poor Dwalin did not know what to think – whether to laugh or no!  Baranil had come up with his plan to disembark, setting out where and when the waggons and tents and prisoners should decamp; and Tamin along with several others were listening quietly; when Baranil had finished he said: ‘There you are, then; let us get going.’  And Tamin replied, ‘No, that is not how we shall do it.  We shall do it this way instead.’  And he outlined his own little plan, concluding with a polite yet rather defiant look upon his little face.  Baranil did not know what to do at first; he had not expected such mutiny; and he said: ‘But I did not tell you to do it like that, Tamin; I told you to do it my way.’  ‘My way is better,’ said Tamin firmly, ‘and I am telling you that we shall do it my way and not yours.’  Then he turned to the rest of the esquires and clapped his hands and announced: ‘Let us be off then!  We have a lot to do.  Quickly, quickly!’  They were so startled they did not know how to refuse, and scattered to do his bidding, with Tamin right behind them harrying them along.  The look on Baranil’s face!”  Dúrfinwen burst out laughing.  “And Dwalin and Stonehelm and Meivel all standing round, watching your esquire turn the Captain’s authority on its head!”

“Well!” laughed Legolas.  “It is no wonder Meivel was so pleased.”

“Yes indeed!” said Dúrfinwen.  “And Baranil turned to Meivel in amazement, and said, ‘Well, what are we going to do about that?’  Meivel only shrugged and said, ‘He is not mine esquire,’ and stalked off.  At first Seimiel and I thought he were affronted with Tamin, for you know how he is about insubordination; but we caught him sniggering fit to choke himself, hiding behind the leech’s tent afterwards.”

“I suppose I ought rather to be appalled at mine esquire’s presumption,” said Legolas, shaking his head and culling the thistle.  “I hope at least it truly was a superior plan to Baranil’s.”

“I would say neither superior nor inferior,” said Dúrfinwen, watching her lord put the last of the milkthistle in the satchel and rise to his feet; she accepted his proffered hand and stood as well.  “If you asked me, I should say it was a distinctly Hobbity plan.”

“Hobbity!” exclaimed Legolas, offering his arm; she took it, and turned with him to the edge of the clearing.  “Whatever do you mean by ‘Hobbity,’ Anóriel?”

“It was more practical and less procedural,” said Dúrfinwen.  “And do you know, I heard him mutter to himself as he left: This gets easier the more I do it, doesn’t it? But as to whom he was speaking, who can say?”

“Who indeed!” said Legolas, smiling at the sun.  “I think perhaps I might guess, Anóriel.”

“Dúrfinwen,” she said without rancor, and arm in arm they quit the quiet clearing.